Chapter One

Taken

1

Carol sat straight up suddenly in her bed, hazy remnants of her nightmare clung to her like a tight piece of clothing she couldn't remove as the bright sunlight burned its way into her opening eyes, painfully blinding and burning, searing a stab of pain in her brain as she came to an awakened state.

A chilling vision of her daughter's twisted face of fear remained in her mind's eye. She shook it off, and with considerable concentration, pushed herself up from her comfortable bed and groggily crawled from out of her dream state.

Carol stumbled to the bathroom and opened her eyes again as she saw the haggard image of her unmade-up face, and pushed her limp hair up from her eyes and sigh a sigh of weariness brought on by the dream. Splashing water in her face and brushing her teeth to help remove that morning yuckiness from her mouth.

Stretching her lovely, slender arms, she reached out and pushed them up and out, over her head, wincing at the tightness in her shoulders, yet enjoying the feeling of release as the tightness pulled loose and tensions began to leave. Yawning delicately, she shook the remaining morning cobwebs from her head again, and bent over, shook her cute, short, brunette locks, and forgot about the nightmare. Life in the mid-thirties, still holding on to a moderate youth.

Glancing quickly over at the pillow where Bob's head normally lay as she steps out of the bathroom door, an empty depression colored her mood as the empty pillow met her gaze and she wondered why he was already up. He had to have awakened much earlier than usual, she thought with dismay. I wonder what he's up to?

Paranoia started to build up her blood pressure like water gathering before a newly placed dam, and she began to feel her old friend anger rising out of its lair. It started swelling within her and she felt her self getting angrier by the minute, as there was no one to calm her down. Her nagging depression increased also. Carol remembered that the bathroom light had been left on again, AND, he had left the damn door open too. And Holly (their husky-retriever mix), had of course, wolfed down all of their cat's food; and the fucking rule in this house was to shut the goddamned fucking door to keep the goddamned fucking dog out of the goddamned fucking cat food! Carol began to see red.

Though she was at the mercy of her anger and her usual mood swings like a goddamned pendulum, she sought desperately to calm herself down. Concentrating, trying to pinpoint exactly what was happening here. Suddenly a memory surfaced and she remembered that her dream was about her daughter; Shirley had been abducted; taken, in that dream.

Now she really needed Bob to be in here. He was definitely going on her shit list this morning. He had no fucking idea how much it costs; how much money leaving that door open would steal from their account.

Carol couldn't pinpoint exactly when she'd began to have this feeling, nor could she exactly grasp or remember any of the specific details or particulars which stubbornly insinuated themselves into her busy, active morning; (it could be just a remnant of her nightmare) nor did she care at the moment, as she grew angrier by the minute. Looking at how careless Bob was with her needs and wishes, he was a handy victim. He was careless to the point that she knew he was slowly driving her crazy. She felt like she was going completely nuts sometimes. I'm not even making sense to myself. She thought with a silent snicker.

Carol didn't really know for a certainty that there was a kidnapping, despite how accurate she felt her suspicions (which tended to lean toward abduction) to be. She only knew that something was amiss. Picking up the scattered dishes throughout the room from the previous evenings snacking, she carried them to the kitchen. . . And returned to the bedroom.

Creeping into her emotional state, a knot of dismay surreptitiously wriggled, like some kind of a writhing snake, a little at a time, enough to scare her, filling her already frantic mind, with such vagueness, rather than any definitive knowledge. It all seemed too impossible. Knowledge which did nothing more than confuse her further, and yet confirmed her premonition that something definitely was terribly wrong. Suddenly, that feeling of a compulsive terror; a knowing of an awakening to being fully aware, and that she was feeling that poor Shirley was truly in trouble. She was pretty sure that she was experiencing that trouble right now, at this very moment, and whatever it was. It was something so terrifying and frightening, that she was sure she would be forced to endure it, filling her with excruciating impatience and experiencing extreme discomfort.

She shook her head to clear it again and called out her dog's name in her little squeaky master's voice; "Holly! Here girl!" Jumping into routine, maybe forcing herself to facilitate some kind of action, hoping something would come to mind that might help.

Holly hurtled swiftly through her bedroom door and leaped into the air, right into her arms as she knocked her to the chilly floor completely overwhelming her and forcing her groggy mind to awaken to an alertness with which she could face the day's problems. Though these premonitory feelings still continued to nag at the back of her mind (and nagged at her for the duration of the whole morning) she was determined to push on.

She playfully wrestled with the dog in a disinterested manner some and, then gently pushed Holly off of her lap, and scowled at her menacingly as she staggered across the floor and through door of the master bath. She bent over the sink, splashing cool tap water directly into her face. Carol wondered at the same time; why she tortured herself this way. The cool water on her puffy face felt good though, and it did help to wake her up.

She dried her face on a towel, then began to scrutinize the tiny age lines and magically appearing blemishes which seemed to pop up exponentially all over her body as the aging process slowly moved forward. In my thirties already she reflected sadly, also reflecting on the time it takes for gravity to slowly and casually draw her skin and features towards to floor without the slightest care, reeling in her youth as though it was a fishing rod and reel, leaving her eventually all alone, in her old age, feeling hopelessly and helplessly lonely and alone. Deeply depressed.

Though she quite stubbornly and persistently, pushed those feelings away, and labored with great effort, trying desperately to convince herself that she could believe everything was alright as she habitually made the bed. Those feelings of doubt and dissonancy continued to build. Their strength burgeoning in her mind, bringing her to the realization that something with that taste of a bad portent was hanging in the air. It occurred to her that not only had something happened to her daughter, but also a sneaking suspicion was growing that her own husband had in some way been a part of this. He could be manipulating and perhaps he was undermining the stability of their family. Carol did not like that. At all! It scared her deeply.

She made every possible effort to appear to be in a good mood despite her long night of interrupted sleep, but the internal persistence was way too great. It was as if it was relentlessly grinding down upon her mind with thoughts of what might be happening. A mind with an imagination that kept returning to where she could feel the essence of her daughter; and seeing in her own mind that Shirley was surely in trouble and in need of help. Carol was frustrated by her uncertainty as to what to do.

Carol carelessly dumped the contents from a scoop of Holly's favorite food into her green rubber food dish. She usually liked to watch her sweet girl while she ate. Just because she ate with such joy and abandonment. But, the whole time Holly is munching, that nagging annoyance keeps returning, time and time again with a unrelenting insistence. Anguish coursed through her as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her, slowly eating away at her own sense of self as she began the painful process of once again collecting her cool, calming herself down and putting on a face of cheer, though false it might be. A complete façade and exposing the truth back at her in graphic clarity, in glaring detail (some of which, no doubt, was imaginary).

Growing even more still, her doubts, seeking to dominate her in the deepest, farthest recesses of her soul it seemed, bringing tears, unbidden, to her eyes. They built, brimmed and overflowed and streaked as they cascaded down her face in tiny little rivulets, streaming gently but swiftly down her smooth cheeks, leaving their staining tracks on her skin as it reddened and tightened suddenly into a dryness which tugged at her face slightly. Her beloved pet ignored for the moment.

Anyone looking at her would see her haggard appearance and not knowing it was from lack of sleep - well, she was sure that her whole body was aflame, the entire, whole network of her nerves was tingling like it was a colony of bees in a disturbed hive, her body began shaking, almost uncontrollably. Her shivering intensified and her worry grew into a billowing cloud of blackness building on her increasing reservoir of doubt at every instant. She could not help but acknowledge that it was that feeling that was threatening her.

Her lack of resolve attacked her from the inside and her feelings of helplessness, keeping her reminded of the look on her daughter's face the very last time she saw her, where she'd shared with Shirley her anger. Words of anger had spewed from her mouth as she'd scolded her about how much of a disappointment she'd been lately. It was a face of anger, rage and also fear. She hadn't even made any attempt at finding out what was on her daughter's mind.

Bob strode briskly as he entered the room while carrying a brimming, steaming cup of Columbia's finest black coffee. The cup is a fine, black lacquered, porcelain cup, hot coffee spilling over the rim with every step, little tiny puddles forming and sitting on the matching saucer. He had a smile plastered on his face as he excitedly approached, but it quickly turned into frown and he adopted a sulky attitude when he saw the expression on his wife's face and the obvious trace of tear tracks on her cheeks.

He really should have known better than to ask, but he went ahead and asked anyway. "What's wrong honey?!" Sitting the cup and saucer down on the side table, shaking the excess liquid from his fingers, he sat meekly on their bed, being so careful so as not to sit on his wife's legs (which he'd done before).

2

Bob's words never registered in her mind as she was too deep in her own thoughts to listen. What brought Carol out of her current psychological concerns was his sudden presence. She quickly turned to him, trying desperately to hold a pleasant demeanor. However, her face convulsed angrily, briefly and then quickly settled back to a mere subtlety, as she dabbed her tears dry with a crumpled tissue. Shame joined the array of emotions she was feeling and it flooded her completely, making her feel like he'd just had a close, introspective look at her innermost thoughts and feelings. How could she even have nerve enough to question him about his behavior having something to do with her premonitions about Shirley.

Embarrassment reddened her face. Flushing it with color. She knew she shouldn't be angry with him right now. It was entirely possible that this wasn't his fault and he had nothing to do with it. Surely, she was beyond just thinking something had happened to Shirley. She had a building premonition that something was really going on with her family but she had no proof, and certainly, no blame that she could honestly place on him. And nothing specific to address. He was just so handy sometimes, and she often felt like she could take out her anger on him, so she had slowly grown the habit of hassling him in a teasing way, but which had grown, with the passage of time, to a surreptitious, venomous rancor. She whined in a furtive voice that she knew would annoy and torment him; "Something's happened to Shirley! I can feel it. I know it." Carol whined and she began weeping again, her voice shuttering provocatively as she spoke.

Sympathetically exaggerating while coming to her side (more like pathetically in her mind), Bob snaked his slender arm around the back of her neck and on to her shaking shoulders, pulling her up close, pressed against his rib cage, she could feel the bones through his side, she deliberately focused on the depth of his eyes. He averted her stare and instead, he tenderly smooched the top of her head and whispered in her ear without much conviction. "Don't worry! She'll be ok. I'm sure she will. You know she's just over at Kathy's house, and that's just down the street. They're having a sleepover. Remember? They're just sleeping in like the lazy bones they are. We'll call them if it'll make you feel better. You just relax. Will ya!" He just stood there with that slouching shoulder and that goddamned sheepish look of bewilderment on a face that belongs to the fool who will claim no part or parcel of what is happening to this fucking family. His only thought is of himself and about what his needs are. And . . . Oh! What a surprise, here we go again!?

Carol deliberately hid her anger (how patronizing he is) behind a frigid exterior and tried again, holding her husband closer and pulling him in for a hug, she very willfully peered straight into her husband's blue eyes and she saw something there that she was sure he was hiding. She couldn't quite distinguish exactly what it was and she surely didn't let on that she'd seen it. She only knew it was there.

He glanced at her sharply and only stepped out of her pathway.

She peered down the hallway and watched Holly as the dog slinked away with an sullen attitude towards the kitchen and into their family bathroom as Carol absently snapped at her husband, "You never listen to me Bob! I tell you I can feel things are happening when they happen, and you never listen to me." She forcibly got control of herself and began with slower, deeper breaths, something she'd been learning from some of those instructive programs which were available to her through their Netflix account. She continued in a somewhat lower, more controlled voice, "Something has happened to my, uh… I mean our… daughter! Bob! And whether or not you are going to believe it, I know what I know! And I know that it is happening. And it is happening right now! Right this very minute."

Bob, ignoring her little tirade, went straight back to the bedroom and picked up his cell phone from the table and punched in the number he'd gotten out of his daughter's notebook which was out where Shirley'd left it. He was pouting. Thinking snappy comebacks which he would never actually say. She'd left it by the lamp on the side table sitting by her bed. Carol sighed and followed Bob back to the bedroom and stood just outside the door as Ruth Stone answered, Bob handed the cell to his wife and Carol held the device up to the side of her face (briefly thinking of the possible effects it might be having on her health), and Kathy's mother's worried voice blurted; "I'm pretty sure they've gone to the mall. It's where all the kids go to hang out after the movies. Or, it's possible they might have ran into some of their friends from school and are just loitering around at the theater or somewhere. I'll be sure to have Shirley call you back when they finally get home." She was trying not to worry.

3

Carol reflected on the woman she still only thought of as Kathy's mother. They were practically strangers, although they see each other occasionally at school functions or at the local grocery, they weren't really friends. In fact, they were barely even acquaintances, didn't know each other at all. Their daughters had found a common ground and had become best friends irrespective of that though, and that fact alone, has forced them to spend some time together (which they never would have done) whether they wanted to or not, at least for the duration of whatever troubles the girls had somehow gotten themselves into.

Awakening to a beam of sunlight catching her eye as it was slowly creeping, painted by the rising sun on its way the sky, across the floor and into her eyes, brushing aside the darkness of the night, as if cleaning the coming day, an astonished Carol realizes that she has dozed off, of all things, and she was now leaning, sprawled actually, across the kitchen table, apparently still awaiting a call which never came. Her eyes were sunken and ringed with big, dark saggy, puffy bags. She cupped her hands over her shamed face and swallowed the feelings brought on by an internal darkness (nothing related to the shadow of the sun) where there was no possible light which could pierce through it to her saddened heart as the truth of her feelings settled into congealed certainty, lodged deeply and firmly within her mind. Something dreadfully awful had happened to her daughter. And she knew it for sure. As her despondency deepened, her heart vowed that she would demand payment for what is being done to her and her family.

The ring tone sounded from her cell phone abruptly, jingling in her upper pocket of the flowered housecoat she was wearing. She removed the cell from her pocket, flipped it open and placed the cell phone to her ear. The voice on the other end of the transmission sounded as weary as she did. Probably from lack of sleep and worry, just as she herself had from having to wait without an answer.

Waiting for their daughters to come home.

Waiting, at least for some information as to their predicament. Evidently she'd not been the only one sitting up and worrying all morning long.

She looked up as her husband, Bob, actually walked out of the door, slamming it as he left the house and roared away as though everything was just fine. How can he just leave like that, knowing how upset I am? Realizing she'd only half heard the voice which was still coming from her cell; "Kathy and Shirley never came home last night! I've called all her friend's numbers and no one seems to know where they are" Ruth Stone repeated with a dismaying tone in her voice, obviously trying to desperately to adapt a disbelief.

"Thanks so much for calling me and letting me know." Carol pushed down the anger she felt that Bob had just left for work, and now Ruth had waited so long to call her back, she sincerely hoped her anger hadn't shown in her voice. She knew it was born of her own disappointment and attempt at denial. Still, Carol bristled a little within her heart as she continued to ponder the carelessness she was accusing of Kathy's mom.

Calming herself was a good idea, so she slowly focused on her breathing deepening it and slowing it down as she spoke into the phone, "Please! Come on over! You can wait with me and keep me company. I have to do something to keep from going crazy while I wait for the cops to show up. I already called the police and reported that our daughters are missing!" And she added a hasty, "I wish you could've called earlier!" That was plenty careless of her to think I should have to wait all night. I'm not just other people, Carol thought, breaking a little with a show of wry bitter sarcasm. "I'm only Shirley's mother!" she snapped, "I wait until late morning, waiting for you to call, while you could have let me know the girls never came home from the movies." Tears streamed from her eyes. "And Bob! He just calmly goes off to fucking work…" she unconsciously throws her free hand in the air, "just as though nothing was happening, nothing was wrong!"

Carol suddenly realized that her depression was deepening. It was threatening to dominate her life and becoming an obsession… and she felt sure that she could win in a fight with it given enough determination to be here for Shirley in her time of need(wherever she is). She pulled herself together with tremendous effort. Cleared her throat noisily and, with a calming of her nerves, said "Never mind. I shouldn't have said that, Ruth. Please! Come on over and sit with me. As I said, I've called the police and Sgt. Reynolds is dispatching a unit to take a report and they are on their way." She could still hear that little inner voice whispering in her mind's ear saying it couldn't believe she was going to allow Ruth to come over. Actually welcome her; a stranger, to her small but suitable home. Such as it is. Modesty personified. Carol was proud of herself.

4

Fear always seems to start as a tiny seed but develops rapidly, exponentially and continues to grow as it creeps stealthily and craftily as it settles in side Carol's mind. Deep, dark, and a nasty, seeping terror festered and continued to grow, engendering a stark debilitating assault of anxiety and doubt. Allowing this ensuing fear to engulf her mind, convinced that she may never get the chance to hold her precious daughter again, to pull her close to her chest and feel her motherly influence sheltering her daughter once more.

The day's fickle promise of sunshine plus the wafting aroma of freshness in the air, supplied by the innocent presence of spring flowers, belaying the heaviness, the dichotomy of the situation ominously settling on her shoulders, a weight of such immense pressure that it seemed to be pushing her down and holding her captive, tightly against her will. Her fear alone, throwing her against a wall of impregnability using whatever forces that were available to it, threatening to hold her daughter and that of her new friend, captives without so much as leaving us a clue whatsoever, as to where they might be, and as to what kind of danger they might be in.

She allowed her eyes to sweep the vista, gazing out through the multi-paneled window of their living room. Carol's eyes could see through the artistry of the outlay of their immaculate yard, while the vision of terror in her mind's eye ignored the beauty, of the lush lawn and deep green bushes and trees, crowned especially by the presence of the majestic silver maple; a beautiful tree, encircled with a small, short white picket fence, fronted with short knee-hi benches for sitting. The scene providing a lush green panorama of loveliness, tinged with dapples of sunlight as they danced among the foliage of the leaves helping to settle her mind, but not this time. Though she desperately willed it would, she found instead, her angst stubbornly holding on, twisting her inside and hanging on tightly, refusing to let go.

The magnificent silver maple standing majestically in the center of her yard centered the landscape perfectly and she embraced the memory of the feeling of awe and love she'd felt the first day she and Bob had seen this house.

The morning sun bathed the atmosphere with a crystalline shimmer, and the dew on the grass and leaves gave off reflections of glimmer and sparkle, shooting photons in every direction, making the whole entrance to the Pennington homestead seem royal and mystic. As she watched Ruth approach the house and turn her little Volkswagen bug into her drive, she felt a slight tug of indecision. What am I doing allowing this woman into my house? She wasn't so sure it was the right thing to do, but as she got out of her car and faced the house, Carol was inundated with a great doubt growing in her chest and spreading through her entire being, flooding her mind with doubt and uncertainty.

She considered the early morning conversation on the phone, the never ending wait where she sat by her table, with the cell phone on the table and wishing it to ring. How she desperately wanted to hear someone's reassuring voice, ideally; her daughter's voice, telling her that she was were alright and on her way back home. Dwindling remnants of the shadows from the sun's morning assent shrank gradually back as the sun slowly climbed high toward its apex and onward into the westerly trip across sky.

She was aware of the various birds singing happily, little voices sounding delightful, undoubtedly cheered by the coming of their mates and the development of their offspring, and the otherworldliness she felt radiating from the ambiance of her home could be nothing more than illusion and she pushed these freaky feelings behind her as she shyly and meekly waited for Ruth to knock lightly on her door.